


Bonds Of Blood And Magic

by EmilieHardie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilieHardie/pseuds/EmilieHardie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had thought he would never meet Balinor's other son, his half-brother. So it's a bit of a shock when he sees Mordred again, all grown up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Balinor's Other Son

**Author's Note:**

> AU from 5x01, where Balinor fathered both Merlin and Mordred. Because the last thing their relationship needs is a bit of brotherly rivalry.

“Stop!”

The cry was harsh, the voice unfamiliar, but Merlin recognised the man as soon as he turned. He had seen him before, in the vision. Seeing him in the flesh only made more apparent what Merlin had suspected: the two of them looked far more alike than chance could account for.

That was the son Balinor had regretted leaving behind, for his safety. That was Merlin's half-brother.

“Shouldn't we leave it to the Lady Morgana to decide their fate?” he spoke, and all the hopes that Merlin hadn't been able to stop came crashing down. Of course his half-brother, the son of a dragonlord gotten onto a druidess, sympathised with Morgana. She was the only power actively opposing Camelot's ban on magic. Even the other kingdoms let it be.

He walked right past Merlin to offer Arthur his hand. And Arthur took it.

“You don't remember me, do you?” he asked and Merlin's spirits sank lower, anticipating whatever wrong Arthur had done him. “You saved my life once, many years ago.”

Suddenly, Merlin knew who the man was. He had known his half-brother before he had met his father, and he couldn't believe he had never made the connection.

“Mordred.” Merlin couldn't help the word from bubbling up out of his mouth.

Both the other men looked at him but it was Mordred who smirked and turned back first. “Hello, Arthur,” he said as though the King was the one he wanted to speak to more.

With the other two turned away, Merlin felt his gaze go hard. Well, then. Mordred sympathised with Morgana, bore Arthur ill will? So be it. He clearly didn't cared that he and Merlin shared blood.

Then there was no reason for Merlin to either.

\----------

A/N: Just a quick teaser to whet your appetite.

 

 


	2. Trust Must Be Earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin is paranoid and Mordred is overwhelmed.

One thought kept cycling through Merlin's head throughout the cold march: did Mordred know about their connection?

They had not parted well, and Merlin knew he was at least partially to blame for that. It was irrelevant, because it was in the past and he would do it all again regardless. If Mordred knew that they were half-brothers, that Merlin was the reason why he had not become a dragonlord on their father's death, they would be even more at odds. And Mordred had a weapon that could bring down everything Merlin had worked for.

He could tell Arthur.

Merlin had spent eight years hiding his secret from Arthur, from everyone at Camelot. There had been a few mishaps along the way, but he had never once doubted the wisdom of keeping his magic a secret. He would die for his master, for his King and above all for his friend. He would also do everything in his not inconsiderable power to stop that same friend from finding out about that power.

“Don't be so quick to judge me,” Mordred had said. Then: “you fear me, Emrys, don't you?”

He didn't, but he could see why Mordred thought that. It was the same reason why he could be mistaken for fearing Morgana, which made his reactions more believable. Merlin could take Mordred and he was pretty sure he could take Morgana. If he put all his power into it, Merlin thought he could take them both down at once. He could destroy an army, raise the dead or summon a dragon with barely any preparation.

Merlin had once tried to conceive just how powerful he was. The best word to describe what he had seen was infinity. He had stopped thinking of it, because he was a terrified of what it would do to his mind. He knew he was powerful; the last thing he needed was to feel it too.

But Mordred had promised to keep his secret. And then he had managed to leave him behind, even if Arthur had not shot him.

Later, he would think on it more, that promise that Mordred had made. For now, all Merlin could see was the image of Morgana, Arthur's half-sister, and Mordred, Merlin's half-brother, ready to kill Arthur while Merlin could do nothing to stop it. In that moment, with the other two aligned against them, Merlin had genuinely thought that he had failed. He had cursed all his power, contained in a body that was even more fragile than most. He had thought Arthur was going to die.

Mordred had saved him. It took all Merlin's self-control not to look back along the column of riders to where Mordred sat on a borrowed horse. Mordred had done the job that Merlin had failed to do, had apparently betrayed Morgana.

It could be a trick. Every piece of knowledge that Merlin kept from Arthur pointed to it being a trick. If it was, it was a flawlessly acted one. The darkest pit of Merlin's mind, the parts that acknowledged just how much he lied and compromised to keep his secret, was impressed.

Arthur had decided to bring Mordred back with them to Camelot. Merlin hadn't protested, knowing that it was futile. Besides, such a perfect act deserved a reward, one liar to another. If Mordred wanted to come to Camelot, to Merlin's home, let him. He would find that Merlin could be even more dangerous than usual when his home was threatened.

At that moment, all the knights were in the throne room for Mordred's knighting. By all rights, Merlin should have been in there himself, standing one pace behind Arthur. It was his usual spot, a sign of extreme favour that had been assigned to him with Arthur's usual combination of brashness and insult.

Over time, the members of the court had grown used to Merlin taking the place that should belong to Arthur's first advisor, if he had had one. His absence would be noted and speculated upon, but there was nothing Merlin could do about it. He was capable of a lot but his stomached rebelled at the thought of standing there with a smile on his face as Mordred was made a knight of Camelot.

He had made the excuse to Arthur that his head wound had not quite healed sufficiently, prompting the King to ask how he could tell the difference. For all Arthur's comments, though, he had let Merlin miss the knighting with a minimum of fuss. So Merlin lurked in the small antechamber next to the great hall, knowing that it was the one allocated to Mordred to undress in once the ceremony was done.

Sure enough, Mordred strode into the chamber, not realising that Merlin was there. That was deliberate on Merlin's part, and it physically hurt to contain his magic to such a degree that Mordred would not be aware of him. Even when Morgana had lived in Camelot, the warlock hadn't bothered to contain himself because of her lack of training. But Mordred, he was trained. Well trained and untrustworthy. It was a test of Merlin's ability to pass unnoticed by Camelot's newest knight as well as a way to catch him off guard.

“Here. Let me,” he said eventually, once Mordred had begun to remove his cloak. His half-brother didn't jump, but he did still very quickly. Merlin took that to mean that he really hadn't known he had company.

“Thank you,” Mordred replied. It was reserved and quiet, almost deferential. Merlin wondered if he knew that Merlin's status as the King's personal manservant meant that he was not meant to help any other without the King's direct instructions. Maybe he thought that Arthur had given those instructions but the deferential tone hinted that Mordred was thanking Emrys for his assistance, rather than the King's manservant.

“You know, if Arthur knew that you had magic, things would be... very different.” It wasn't strictly true. Merlin wasn't sure that Arthur hadn't placed Mordred as the druid boy whose life he had saved. If he had, then Arthur was giving Mordred the same leeway that Gaius had: remain loyal and not actively use his magic and he could live. Merlin didn't feel the need to tell Mordred that. “Tell me something.”

“Of course.” The tone was still slightly deferential and Merlin felt the need to warn him that, if Mordred was serious about keeping Merlin's secret, he was going to have to learn to drop that tone. He let it go, not wanting to be distracted from his goal.

“You saved Arthur's life. Why?” he asked, as though he would take Mordred's response at face value.

“Because Arthur is right.” And that, right there, was why Merlin wouldn't believe anything that Mordred said. No one was more loyal to Arthur than Merlin, but not even he would go so far as to say the dollophead was right. “The love that binds us is more important than the power that we wield. Morgana had forgotten that.”

Merlin had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling of looking at himself when he had first come to Camelot. He had been so young and innocent, had believed in kindness and that the world could right itself without Merlin being just as tough as Morgana and Uther.

He agreed with the words Mordred was saying, as naïve as they were. Merlin wasn't sure whether he believed that Mordred believed them, but it was the right thing to say. He was loyal to Arthur despite his magic, and maybe Mordred could be as well. Merlin had just survived in Camelot for too long.

Merlin wasn't naïve anymore. He knew that kindness was a luxury that someone with a secret as big as his could ill afford. Most of all, he knew that paranoia was the next best option if wisdom was not possible.

For a moment, Merlin considered leaving the room then, letting the conversation end there. Even afterwards, he would never be able to tell whether it was kindness or nastiness that kept him there to do what he did next. He let his iron grip on his magic loosen ever so slightly, prompting Mordred to turn and look at him.

“Balinor is dead,” he said looking him dead in the eyes.

Mordred's flinch was strong and too sudden to be faked. He hadn't known then. The frown that followed was genuine too. “Why would you lie, Emrys?” he asked, hurt colouring his features.

“It's not a lie. He has been dead for years.”

Mordred started shaking his head slightly before the words were fully out of Merlin's mouth. “No, I would have known if my father had died. I would have-”

“You wouldn't have become the dragonlord,” Merlin said, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at being so harsh. “It passes to his oldest son.”

“I am-” That time, Mordred cut himself off. For the first time, his serenity was broken with something dark. It was gone almost as soon as it had arrived. “You. You're his oldest son, aren't you, Emrys?”

“Merlin. My name is Merlin, and that's the only name you should use. This is Camelot. The walls have ears.” Admittedly, those ears were usually Merlin's impressive ones.

_“Emrys,”_ came Mordred's voice into his mind. Aloud, he continued: “we're brothers, are we not?”

“Half-brothers,” Merlin said, a little too sharply.

“Oh.” It was barely more than a wisp of air. Then, suddenly, the other magic user reached out and dragged Merlin to him in a crushing hug, with a depth of emotion that had been belied by his serene countenance. “You did not know him well, did you?” he asked into Merlin's shoulder.

Even though he knew that it was likely fake, Mordred's show of sympathy caused Merlin to choke up for a few seconds. Sympathy was not something he got a lot of. “Barely a week,” he replied once he had found his voice.

Mordred released Merlin and leaned back so they could look at each other, but did not step away. Two emotions warred in his gaze: wonder and sorrow. It was so convincing that Merlin would almost have believed it if he had not heard of the role Mordred was to play from several sources over the years.

“And... was it a good death?” the new knight asked, his voice small and young-sounding.

Though he had no idea what Mordred would consider a good death, Merlin nodded. Whatever problems he had with his half-brother, their father deserved to have his memory remembered well.

“Thank you,” Mordred said, sincerely. Then he pulled Merlin in for another hug. “Thank you, brother.”

Carefully, Merlin disengaged himself from Mordred's hold. “Mordred, you are a known druid,” he said, picking his words and unwilling to let the younger man know he was onto him.

Puzzlement crossed his face. “I've made no secret of it.”

“But the knowledge that we are half-brothers would prompt questions I don't want to answer,” Merlin said, trying to soften the blow.

Mordred took a careful step. “I understand,” he said. Merlin rather doubted it, but didn't say as much.

“Well then, Sir Mordred, I trust that you will find Camelot everything you expected.”

  
  


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

  
  


Mordred watched Merlin go, a pit deep in his stomach and nervous energy sizzling through his body. Emrys, the Emrys, was his half-brother and their father was dead. Either of those revelations would have been more than enough for one day but there was more.

Merlin didn't trust him.

It felt as though he had taken a sword to the stomach. He couldn't tell if his half-brother thought he wasn't canny enough to keep the secret or if he thought that Mordred had malicious intent. Either way, it hurt that the living legend that was his only remaining family thought that way.

He didn't have long to ponder the feeling, however, because Merlin released the hold he must have had on his magic in order to surprise Mordred. It felt rather like taking a very hard blow to the head. All the previous times that Mordred had been exposed to the feeling of Merlin's power, it had been a gradual thing as they got closer. Approached that way, the raw mass of seething power that enveloped Merlin was far less of a shock.

Mordred barely noticed when his knees hit the floor, so overwhelmed that he was by Merlin's power. Distantly, he realised that he was trembling and having difficulty catching his breath. With his power kept in check, it had been easier to speak to Merlin as opposed to Emrys. But Mordred was only beginning to realise that he had never really been speaking to Emrys at all, masked as he was by a thousand little tricks that had previously kept Mordred from being overwhelmed by that much power.

With Emrys' power loosened, the whole castle sang. So close to the epicentre, Mordred couldn't tell how far the effect extended, but the land belonged to Emrys as far as his senses could extend. Only now he thought on it did Mordred realise that the land had gotten progressively more hospitable as they had neared Camelot. Clearly, that did not have as much to do with the power of the throne as most would believe.

With his breath caught, Mordred forced his legs to support him as he rose. He was still breathing hard but some of his faculties were beginning to return to him and he began to wonder if that had been deliberate on his brother's part. Mordred didn't think so. Up until then, Merlin had wielded his magic in a way that hid the true extent of his power. A show of muscle was very much not his style.

It took Mordred far more effort than usual to centre himself for mental communication, even though it was one of his best skills. Maybe he was more shaken than he had thought. He reached out as gently as possible in the direction of the overwhelming power, not touching Merlin's power but making the other warlock aware of his presence. After a few seconds, he received a sensation that could not be adequately conveyed into words but was an acknowledgement and a gentle invitation to communicate, along with what was probably meant to be a slight reassurance.

The sensation was so strong that all of Mordred's muscles relaxed and once and he collapsed to the ground, his mind spinning off into shadow and spiritual realms only accessible by magic. The sensation was euphoric and he would have stayed there indefinitely, unaware that his body was rotting away, if a sharp mental prod hadn't brought him back.

Once the glorious after-effects had faded, Mordred couldn't help but feel like a dog on a leash.

His ire faded as quickly as it had started when he looked up to see a genuinely apologetic Merlin standing over him. It suddenly occurred to Mordred that perhaps it was for the best that his brother lived in a place few, if any, magic users dared to reside. If he surprised anyone with too much magical sensitivity or not much magical strength, Merlin could easily have destroyed their mind.

Mordred was not one to be overly proud of his skill but he was well aware that he was one of the top five most powerful magic users alive. Emrys, the unquestioned holder of the top spot, could easily have bent Mordred to his will and made Mordred love it, and done so by accident.

It was a disconcerting feeling, to have an epiphany that made him sympathise with laws and sentiments that would see him dead. Still, Mordred had a far better understanding why something as beautiful and wondrous as magic could be feared.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, more to his feet than to Mordred. The later wondered if his brother was aware of just how utterly inadequate the word 'sorry' was for the situation. Then again, there was no word that could convey both 'you're welcome' and 'that was stupid of me' at once.

“I was about to ask if it were possible for you to continue suppressing...” Mordred trailed off, careful not to say the word aloud. “At least until I have adjusted some.”

“Yes. And this should be the way all conversations are held from now on.”

Mordred nodded and began the difficult task of picking himself up off the floor. Unsurprisingly, his magic-infused muscles were not as cooperative as normal. To his annoyance, he had only just managed to get himself upright when his entire body went limp again, depositing him on the floor. The additional bumps and damage to his dignity was worth it though, as it startled a laugh from Merlin.

Mordred decided to stay on his back. It seemed like a less embarrassing option than trying to stand up. From that angle, Merlin's face had a slightly diabolical cast to it. But that couldn't be right; Emrys was the ultimate magical force for good.

He was also, apparently, an older brother. “You know,” he said thoughtfully and Mordred realised that it wasn't just his angle of view, “Gwaine will probably want to celebrate with Camelot's newest knight.” That last bit was delivered with a look of complete innocence.

Mordred might even have fallen for it, if he had not been warned of Sir Gwaine earlier by the responsible Sir Leon. As it was, he knew what a drink with Sir Gwaine was likely to lead to: far more drinks. He also knew that he had come for the express purpose of seeing Emrys, and here he was presented an opportunity for camaraderie.

So he did not let on that he knew where it was likely to lead. “You will join us?”

Merlin hesitated. “I am meant to still be recovering from a blow to the head.”

“Then you have a reason to be sober when I drink Sir Gwaine under the table,” Mordred said with a shrug, eliciting a laugh from Merlin.

“Alright, then,” the other warlock said with a grin and Mordred felt a warmth lodge itself in his breastbone. His brother might not trust him, but that would come.

In the meantime, that didn't mean they could not enjoy each other's company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, there's going to be a lot about the politics of Camelot in this fic. In particular, Mordred will soon discover that being Merlin's brother is great in theory but the reality is far less fun. Also, I've also tried to give a better sense of magic than is portrayed in the show and would love some feedback on how that went. Still, things will lighten up a bit when more of the knights get in on the action, don't worry.


End file.
